


this used to be a funhouse

by TetrodotoxinB



Series: MCU Kink Bingo 2017 [18]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Author is trans, Bingo square: Setting - Carnival, Canonically Deaf character, Clint's self-esteem has the tensile strength of rice paper, D/s AU, Dom!Nat, FTM Clint, Internalized Transphobia, Is that a thing? Whatever you get it, Self-Voyeurism, Transphobic/homophobic slurs, sub!clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 14:29:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12986028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TetrodotoxinB/pseuds/TetrodotoxinB
Summary: Clint slips into a county fair after hours. He finds himself in a hall of mirrors and has to confront some ugly, and not so ugly, truths.





	this used to be a funhouse

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the wonderful [ChibiSquirt](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiSquirt/pseuds/ChibiSquirt).
> 
> Guys, please read the tags. The transphobia and slurs in this are not a joke.

_Who’d ever wanna fuck some stupid, subby little faggot like you anyway?_

The words echoed in Clint’s mind as he slipped between some poorly put together temporary fencing sections at the county fair. It wasn’t _his_ circus, but nonetheless it felt like home in ways that “normal” places never could. He took in the familiar scents as he walked through between the empty rides and the booths, the smells of warm garbage, animal manure, and cigarette smoke that permeated every carnival, circus, and fair he’d ever been in. 

It wasn’t something he’d planned, coming out here at night like this, lurking around a county fair after closing. But their current mission had wrapped up earlier in the day, and someone at the diner in town was talking about the county fair. It had seemed a better way to waste time than just watching whatever bullshit was on the local cable, anyway. 

But as soon as he hit the gates, Barney’s words echoed in his head. 

_Pervert_

It came up in his mind every time Nat put him down. Even after six months, he only ever got all the way down if Nat basically whipped him there. It helped, but it was shitty. Who the hell wanted to be beaten down to subspace every time they needed to drop? He was glad he didn’t need to go down more often than every two or three weeks, or he’d never have time to heal in between.

He’d come out here to clear his mind, to come out of this tailspin, but in his mind, Barney wouldn’t shut the fuck up. 

He kicked an empty beer can and wandered past a teacup ride. 

It was fucking bullshit. Any time Nat complimented him, said she loved him, told him how gorgeous he was, he just folded like a cheap lawn chair. He couldn’t reconcile what she said she saw with what everyone else had seen in him. And so down he went, spiralling into darkness yet again. 

_Like a woman would want a guy without a dick._

Clint sighed through his nose and quietly climbed the steps to the hall of mirrors. It was empty and only illuminated by the security lights on the edge of the fairground. The ugly glow of the salt lamps bounced from mirror to mirror, turning the inside of the trailer to twilight even several turns in. 

He trudged along, not really needing to watch where he was going. All these stupid things had the same layout — mass produced and towed on the back of a semi when the carnival pulled up roots and moved on.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of himself and looked up. Fucking bandaids, bandages, bruises, and scars littered pretty much every inch of exposed skin.

 _Chicks dig scars, Barney,_ he’d argued once after getting in yet another fist fight.

Barney had laughed and shaken his head. _No you idiot, chicks dig men, not little girls playing at being men._

Clint drew another sharp breath through his nose and reminded himself that Nat was his dom. He might have needed Barney to put him down when he was a kid, but he had someone who loved him now. She was the one he listened to. He rolled his shoulders back, set his jaw, and looked in the mirror to see if he could find what it was that Nat saw.

There were a lot of fucked up things that Clint believed about himself, but seeing himself as a woman wasn’t one of them. More like he saw himself as the ghost of a man: something less than what other men were, something outside of what people had told him he had to be... and, at the same time, so far from who he wished he was. 

Lacking. That was how he always thought of himself. How could Nat see anything else?

_You look so beautiful when you come, Clintka. So good for me. So strong for me. Giving me whatever I ask for and more._

He listened to her words in his head again and again and again until Barney’s voice was small and faraway. Until he could almost pretend that he couldn’t hear Barney at all.

_Beautiful when you come_

Clint didn’t really believe it, but he’d never seen for himself what he looked like when he came, and Natasha didn’t lie to him, not where it mattered, anyway. They all lied to each other about work every so often; it was an occupational hazard. But if she said that about him, then he trusted her. He had to.

Determined, he pulled down the fly on his pants and slid his hand under the band of his boxers. He didn’t want to pull his boxers down though. With all the mirrors he’d _see_ , but with his pants up he could at least pretend that he had his hand on a dick, _his_ dick.

_Stroke your cock for me Clintka._

Clint sighed and stroked his cock, just like Nat told him to. He thought of himself on his knees for her, head bent forward and eyes closed while she stood in front of him. In the hall of mirrors, he sunk to his knees and watched. 

He didn’t worry about being caught. He might not _hear_ someone coming up behind him, but he’d feel their footsteps in this rickety ass trailer. No, his flush was all about watching himself. Doing something _for_ Nat. She would want him to see himself as she did. 

His dick was hard now, big enough that he could wrap a finger around it after the years of T. He looked at the expanse of his throat, something that Nat loved to do. Pulling his head back by his hair and trailing her fingers over his jugular and carotid, marking out her territory, reminding him that he belonged. 

Clint shivered and rubbed faster. In the mirror, the flush on his face spread to the tips of his ears, with just the slightest red on this throat. He pulled his shirt up and looked at his chest. Blond hair grew in a Y shape over his pecs and down his stomach. His scars were nearly invisible, faded to shadows along the contour of his pecs. He focused on what Nat would see: not the scars that told of a life he had shed, but of the body of a man. And he _did_ look like a man, to his surprise. He hadn’t been clocked in ages, so _obviously_ he looked like a man, but actually seeing it for himself and believing it was something else. 

His mouth hung open and he panted as he got close. He clenched his cunt to stoke the flames of his pleasure and watched the way his abs went taut as he came. He saw his face clear and open with pleasure. He saw his broad shoulders flex as he moved and balanced and moved his hand just that much faster, chasing the aftershocks. 

And for a moment, he saw what Nat saw. 

Reeling, he sat back on his heels, breathing hard. Slowly, he lowered his shirt and drew his hand out of his pants. His brain was quiet — Barney was quiet — as he sat there, staring at himself in the mirrors. 

That feeling of being a ghost of a man, it was less strong. He felt more substantial, more real. More of a man. A man that a woman like Nat could want. A feeling of satisfaction and fulfillment settled over him. He had done this just out of faith that Nat was right, and he had proved it to himself and to her that he could see what she saw. 

A gust of wind blew into the hall of mirrors and Clint shivered. He made his way to his feet and zipped his pants. No longer wandering, he made his way out of the trailer and across the fairgrounds in short order. A quick walk up the road to where he had left the car and he was on his way back to the hotel. 

Nat would be waiting there for him. She wouldn’t ask where he had gone. She wasn’t possessive like that, and honestly there was nothing to tell. Clint would go back, clean up, and kneel by her feet while they watched something stupid like House Hunters or Cake Wars reruns until they both got tired enough to sleep. It was simple, and it was everything Barney had said he would never have. It was time to stop listening to Barney. He had Nat now, and he had himself.


End file.
